#three musketeers fanfiction

[itsonlydana]

📝 WIP "Aramis"

Aramis leaned into the little bit of space you had in this cramped corner and his intoxicating scent clouded your mind.

"Maybe," he whispered and his hand moved from your knuckles higher up to your wrist, stopping inches before glove became skin, "maybe you should pull these off as well.. they must be uncomfortably warm."

He knew what he was doing and made sure you knew as well. While one of his hands pushed the long airy sleeves of your dress up, the other one grabbed the white glove, and slowly, excruciatingly so, he tugged on it. First a bit on every finger and when it gave way, he pulled it off completly. Aramis repeated the procedere on your other hand, not making any haste as he stripped what had been the last part of restrain and decorum.

He must have realized he was taking away what mothers had their daughters swear to ever take off for anyone but a husband.

That this, was much more intimate than anything else you'd done before.

This was new, this was forbidden and leading you down a path you would never look back from.

[writesick-lover]

Please don't leave

D'Artagnan x fem!reader

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

A/N: Hiii, so yeah, this is basically my first post of a one-shot I wrote like a year ago but I am still proud of it to this day. At first it was written based on D'Artagnan from the movie The Three Musketeers but later on I realised that it works perfectly with the one from the series as well so you got both of them here haha. I also decided to leave this in a 3rd pov despite reader's involvement in this story. Anyway, please enjoy and let me know how you like it ;D

Warning: none it's just fluff

Summary: D'Artagnan and his wife wake up to another morning in their bed until they realise the daunting truth of what is to come.

♦️ ♦️ ♦️ ♦️

Another cold morning had hit the residents of Paris. The early busy streets were haunted by a mysterious fog and the warm breaths of people talking with each other in hopes of buying something for what little they had. Amongst the civilians, a bunch of feathered hats moved around. The musketeers, the pride and joy of the King's army, were up early and ready to protect their country and their King. All of them but one.

She pulled her bedsheets up, trying to hide from the merciless cold that had crept into her usually warm bedroom. She could use the feeling of his body to fight the cold but found no strength to search for his touch as her place in the bed was partially warmed up by her. As if her thoughts called him, his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to his chest. It felt just like the usual morning they were to spend together. Except it wasn't. 

The reality hit her like a wild horse and broke all of her dreams of a lovely morning into pieces. "Charles," she croaked. There was no response but she knew he was up, he was a light sleeper, his profession made him to be one. "Charles," she tried again. A sound returned to her voice and finally hit his ears as he snuggled closer to the crook of her neck. 

"Oui, mon ange?" he mumbled against her skin, placing a small kiss. It was prickling like a needle as she slowly realized it might have been one of the last kisses she was to receive from him. 

"You have to go," her voice shook and she gulped, to swallow the lump in her throat caused by the urge to cry. 

He groaned, realizing the truth as well, but choosing to ignore it in favor of more cuddles. "No, we still have time."

She sighed as she glanced at the clock, "No, we don't, the musketeers will be here any minute." She started wiggling, trying to break free from his grip that only tightened, making her break a smile whilst she kept on trying. "I have to prepare you a bath. And get your clothes," 

"No, you don't, I can do it later," he muttered sleepily, pulling her as close as physically possible. 

"I do, or you'll have to go through the embarrassment of being dragged out of the bed naked by one of your brothers in arms," she giggled, hitting his hand which had proven to be the right method to make him let go. 

"Please don't leave," he begged, setting off a tear down her cheek. However, it quickly dried as she gasped when the freezing air hit her skin, biting into every inch of her naked body. 

She quickly dressed herself, and he, unbeknownst to her, was watching her with adoration. All of her motions, the way she tied her hair into a ponytail with a black tie, creating a small bowtie at the top. How she quickly put on her underwear to fight of the spreading goosebumps on her skin, small almost inaudible gasps escaping her lips with each movement. The way she perfectly slipped into the black dress he gave her last winter, the one she wore every time he had to leave her. And after all those times, he learned to despise the dress, wishing he never had given it to her. Wishing she never had to put it on, on another of those mornings.

As she left the room, it was as if a symphony he didn't even realise was enveloping his entire world came to a halt. But then her voice rang across the house and he found himself fighting the cold outside their bed just to get to her. As he washed, she made sure everything was ready for him. She always did. She didn't even forget the small package of food for the way, no matter how many times he had told her that Porthos would bring something. And every time, he made sure to eat everything she packed for him instead of what Porthos had brought. 

He was drying himself up when he noticed the unusual silence coming from his significant other. "Why so silent, amour?"  

"Just a lot of thoughts," she shrugged, forcing a smile onto her lips, even though her eyes glistened with tears. 

His posture softened under her teary gaze, but it didn't stop him from his usual habits. "You don't have to mourn, you know I will be back," he grinned arrogantly, letting out his boyish attitude to reduce her worries. But it was very like him to laugh in the face of Death and then escape, no matter how carelessly he threads the line between life and death. She smiled honestly this time, a small giggle escaping her lips and he wished he could trap it in a jar and take it with him. She opened her mouth to retort back but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. 

"D'Artagnan, you better not be sleeping or I will break this door down and drag your ass out whether it's naked or not! Athos is already waiting for us on the academy grounds." Aramis' voice roared from the outside. Her eyebrow lifted, glancing at D'Artagnan who was half naked with a towel in his hands. "I suppose you are at the risk of a major embarrassment." 

"I'm not if my love makes sure to hold them up for me," he smirked devilishly as she rolled her eyes, already heading for the door.  "Sometimes I wish to not do as you say and witness the actual threat getting fulfilled, I think I'd find it more than hilarious," she yelled at him in the middle of her tracks, a mischievous smile, he could see in his mind, painting her lips. "You wouldn't do me that dirty, you love me too much for something like that," he managed to answer while frantically trying to put on his pants.

"Do I really?" she teased, grabbing the door knob and twisting it.

"Hello, gentlemen," she smiled brightly at the two musketeers in front of her. They bowed their heads while holding their hats in an elegant matter, both smiling at her, Aramis appearing to be more joyful than any other time. "My lady." 

"Definitely not yours!" D'Artagnan's voice thundered from the other room. 

"She will be if you don't come out ready this instant!" Aramis snapped back, throwing a bold wink at the lady of the house. She could only roll her eyes at the cheesy gesture as she leaned on the door frame, preventing the two men from entering any further. She smiled politely. "You will have to forgive me, but I oppose to that idea, unfortunately," 

Aramis grabbed her hand and placed his lips on top of it. "Oh, what a shame, my gorgeous lady,"  he sighed after holding it for longer than appropriate, only making her chuckle. 

"Fortunately!" Charles yelled out again. 

"Mon amour, I cannot hold them much longer. Aramis is gonna be all over me if you don't get here soon," a smirk on her face met Aramis' similair one in front of her as Charles D'Artagnan appeared from behind her, accompanied by a loud crash. 

He puffed out his chest after his 'graceful' entrance. "Weren't you the one who taught me not to profane the lady?" he send daggers Aramis' way, towering over the two of his friends, "And here you are, dragging my wife into whatever is going on in that head of yours. I think this matter cannot be resolved any other way than a proper fight upon our return," her eyes widened upon the words of her husband as she noticed the challenging sparks in the musketeers' eyes.

"In no way are you fighting after your return. I will be more than thankful to have you come in one piece after those few weeks so don't you even think about getting yourself killed the very next day," she turned around to fix his shirt and coat that was visibly put on in a hurry. However, she did not fail to handle his clothes with rough tugs, a heat rising in his chest from the warning fire in her eyes. "And you better not let him do anything stupid, I know he will try anyways," she turned around again, eyeing the other musketeers who bowed again under the urging flames.

"At your service, my lady," they smirked in Charles' face and set off running  when he gave chase and chased them all the way to the front yard and to where the horses were already prepared to set off. She followed them, walking to the front yard slowly with a soft laugh but quieted the second she saw them by the horses. D'Artagnan was still with his feet on the ground and waiting for her with a glint in his eyes. Oh, how she was going to miss his dark loving eyes only ever laid on her and the warmth of his body on all of those winter mornings. Oh, how he was going to miss the sweet, sweet smile of hers and the way her voice sounded between the walls of their house. How he was never looking forward to the deafening silence around him without her presence, despite Porthos' mouth never shutting up during the missions. It was a list of unspoken vows they never told to each other out loud but they could always feel it, the way the world stopped at that very moment. 

And without any wait, when she was within his reach, he pulled her into a bittersweet kiss, sending thousands of painful but sweet needles down their lips as both of them knew this may be their last. It was long, full of longing and pain, but mesmerising enough to deafen Aramis' scoff in the back. "Please don't leave," she begged after their lips finally parted, her forehead resting on his. She begged again after he hopped on his horse and she again right before they departed. "You know I will come back," he reassured her. And yet, she kept on begging in silence, hoping that he would keep true to his word again just as he did up until now.

♦️ ♦️ ♦️ ♦️

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬' 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

a/n: this is definitely self-indulgence. There is BARELY anything for Musketeers, and I don’t know WHY. It was such a good show?! If you haven’t seen it, it’s on Stan (for Aussies). 

Warnings: mention of racism, and the treatment of black people (I don’t want to trigger any of my readers)

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ          

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Is very proud to call you his partner. He’s just so honoured that you want to be with him, that it’s difficult not to talk about you. 

     “And she knows so much abou-”

“Yes! Porthos we know! Y/N is amazing, but please... just ... she’s all you ever talk about,” Aramis says with his arms in the air. (He’s not being dramatic, Porthos only talks about you, legitimately.) 

・Was a bit wary about your work but warmed up to you once you explained it. To me, Porthos gives off a bit of Himbo energy™

・Whenever there’s danger, he protects you with his whole body

     “Porthos, you’re squashing me-”

“Shhhh, there’s danger.” 

・You get along really well with Aramis. He’s a lively and funny man, who likes to tell the most embarrassing stories of Porthos

・You give him things to take when he’s away on assignments. Lavender to help calm and to sleep, a bay leaf in his jacket pocket, and a satchet of cloves. 

・He has a strong moral compass, and when the world gets too hard, he comes to you and falls apart. Porthos knows you’ll always be there to help put him back together again

・Knowing his background and where he came from. Enslavement and being a black man affects Porthos in his day to day life. You always want to hear if anyone has done anything to him. You will protect Porthos in every way you can. 

・Porthos always makes you feel safe, protected, and he gives you the space to be yourself. 

・You don’t hide anything from each other, and promise to be truthful. Secrets are what damage relationships. 

・Porthos can change your mood in an instant. He brings you out of so many slumps

・He isn’t as energetic as Aramis (who hates being still), but Porthos still likes to have adventures. However, if you do not wish to, then he’s happy just spending his time at home with you

・Porthos gets angry about the injustices he sees in his day-to-day life. But that’s the only time you see his temper rise. He has never yelled at you, never. He’s never slammed anything, or expressed his anger in physical ways. He’s never even made you jump (well he has, but that’s because he surprised you by coming home early). 

・He absolutely HATES spiders. Despises them. Thinks they’re creepy and will tell you to get rid of it. 

・Likes to share his food with you - feeding you absentmindedly, especially when the food is really good. 

・You never have to worry about Porthos straying. His loyalty is unending. 

・Bit of a crybaby when he’s wounded (only in front of you though. When the guys are around, he doesn’t flinch.) But he loves being coddled by you. 

・ You’re very good friends with Constance. She visits you often, especially when the men are away on an assignment. If they’re gone for multiple days, she may sleep over. 

・It’s often you, who the men come to when they need fixing up. You can help with sleeplessness, headaches, stitching up wounds, to popping shoulders back into place. 

・Your come from a low-class family, and doctors were too expensive, so all your neighbours either suffered or died. You wanted to help people, and so you learned as much as you could from anyone and everyone. 

・Some say you’re a witch, because you know so much. Or maybe it’s because you learned a lot from women

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆:

All of them? 

Porthos is such a loving man. He’s so ready for love, he was just waiting for you to come along. 

𝐺𝑖𝑓𝑡 𝐺𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔:  He absolutely adores getting you gifts (he brings tokens back from his travels.

𝑄𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒:  He loves spending all his free time with you, doing anything and everything; horseback riding, training, teaching you how to handle weapons (he always wants you to know as much as you can).

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝐴𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛:  He loves telling you how much you mean to him, and he melts whenever he hears it back. When he’s away from you and missing you, he’ll pull out one of your scarfs and smell it, remembering how much you love him.

𝐴𝑐𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑐𝑒:  He will get you tools and supplies whenever you need it. Maybe he doesn’t know when you’re getting low, and you have to tell him, but he will go into town and fetch them willingly. 

𝑃𝘩𝑦𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑇𝑜𝑢𝑐𝘩: Maybe this is his favourite love language. Porthos wants nothing in this world but you. To hold you in his arms, to play with your hair and smell your skin. He loves when you show him the same physical love back. The gentle caresses on his arm, the kisses, god, it’s all he needs in this world. 

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Wondrous Love by Bear McCreary

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

(Porthos gets more because ... god he fits into so many tropes and not a lot of characters do! Also because this is self-indulgent and Porthos is one of my all-time favourite characters.)

・Protective Gremlin x Giant Teddy Bear

・Height Difference

・Would Die For Each Other

・Emotional Support Animal In Human Form

・ Dumbass x Oh God I Guess That’s My Dumbass

・You fell first but they fall harder 

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆:

Clueless Love

𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 🔞minors dni!

・Daddy kink, god, the first time you called him daddy ... he nearly came right then. 

・Breeding kink - likes to fill you with his seed. If you fell pregnant, he would definitely have a lactation kink as well. Seeing your belly full and round ... god, it would drive him insane

・His favourite place to have sex, is in the kitchen. It’s close to the kitchen table, where he likes to bend you over and fuck you until you cry with pleasure 

・Always leaves hickies on your tits. It’s his way of marking you, even though no one else will see. 

・Is very giving but absolutely LOVES receiving head. If you gag on his cock, this man will cum nearly instantly. 

・Very very very big cock. Nearly 10 inches when he’s hard

・Absolutely adores dirty talk. He wants to hear you say the nastiest things while he’s inside you

[colepaldi-in-the-tardis]

Chapter 3&4 of my Richelieu/Milady

"Touch me like you do"

is up on AO3.

Highly E-Rated, spiced up with drama and a plot! Give it a read and let me know what you think (you can comment on anon if you want to!)

CPitT

[signofthestriking]

Gonna start posting art set in my OC AU's first book. Probably good to start with chapter 1-

This one interaction snowballs into a committed friendship between two Saiyans who don't know shit about their alien blood. And hey you can read all about it here!:

[barbie-edits]

Crossover idea: after the events of Three Musketeers, Corinne and her crew become freelancers. Meanwhile, after the events of Twelve Dancing Princesses, the girls’ father decides they need some extra security around the castle and ends up hiring, you guessed it, Corinne & co.

My main question is, which Musketeers would fall in love with which Princesses? 

[naritaren]

so fixated on your dreams (why won't someone worship me)

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Multi Fandom: 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling Relationships: Yota Tsuji/Ren Narita/Shota UminoNarita Ren/Umino Shota

Characters: Tsuji YotaNarita RenUmino ShotaReiwa Three Musketeers

Additional Tags: face fucking, thigh riding. Threesome - M/M/M. Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Blowjobs, Some angst, POV Third Person

Summary: Danger. Ren can't seem to avoid it and Shota and Yota want to make it worse.

You can read it on AO3 here:

[duckprintspress]

The “Aim For The Heart” Campaign First 48 Hours, and the First (of Many!) Contributor Spotlights

On Thursday, Duck Prints Press launched the crowdfunding campaign for our next anthology. Aim For The Heart: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Alexandre Dumas’s “The Three Musketeers” features 20 stories, 19 full-page art pieces, and a 12-page comic, all inspired by the beloved story of d’Artagnan, the musketeers he meets, and the politics he gets embroiled in.

As of when I’m writing this, 76 people have already backed our project, and we’re nearly 60% of the way to our $8,000 USD goal! This is a really strong start, and we couldn’t be happier about it. A huge THANK YOU to everyone who has backed so far, and to everyone else – whatcha waiting for? There’s no time like the present – we’re offering an early bird special, $10 off our highest backer tier featuring the book + our gorgeous merchandise (a bookmark, a magnet, a sticker, and an enamel key chain) – only available today and Sunday, and only to the first 50 backers – we’ve only got 19 left!!!

If you love queer stories and queer art, and want to support a queer-owned independent publisher this lovely Pride month, make sure you check it out!

And, to whet your appetite, starting today we’ll be sharing story and art teasers more-or-less daily until the end of the campaign!

Author Spotlight: Wait and Hope by Veronica Sloane

About the author: Veronica Sloane has authored a novel, several short stories, some poetry, and twenty-two years worth of fanfic. She lives with one lovely spouse, one rambunctious clever child, and one sleepy cat.

Links: Archive of Our Own | Tumblr

About the Story: This modern fanfic tells the tale of Porthos, a waiter, and Aramis, a theology student, meeting for the first time—and then tells of their reunion, ten years later.

Story Teaser: 

“My name is Porthos,” he offered, “and I’ll be your dining companion for the evening, if you’ll have me.”

“Is this a new waiter service?” Aramis asked, those lovely wide eyes going rounder.

“I’m officially no longer a waiter here.” Porthos took Aramis’s lack of objection as agreement and set the glasses before each of them, uncorking the bottle with an expert twist of the wrist.

“Were you fired?” Aramis asked, watching the wine trickle into his glass with avid attention.

“I’m graduating.”

“Me too. I’ve never seen you.”

“Business major.” Porthos poured his own glass generously. It was a very good white.

“Theology.”

“What do you do with that?”

“In my case? Become a priest.”

“No.” Porthos set down the bottle to stare at him. “Really? Does that still happen?”

“From time to time,” Aramis laughed.

“But why? Surely you can just study religion and go to church if you have to. I’m assuming; I don’t think I’ve set foot in a church since I was a kid. I’d probably catch fire.”

“God forgives. If you have faith.” The last was said a little more tremulously.

“And you must.”

“Must I?” Aramis picked up his wine.

“Then why the priesthood?”

“I believe. Faith is another matter.”

Tags: alcohol use (casual), alternate universe, chef, college, food (graphic descriptions), m/m, meet cute, one-night stand, past tense, pov third person limited, restaurant, reunions, second chances, trans male character, veteran

Learn more about the whole collection by visiting our campaign page!

[aureliagone]

Dumas pulls a Wattpad y/n move

The bitch really looks in the mirror to describe to the reader what he looks like the AUDACITY. “His forehead broad and majestic—“ you sure, bitch??

(From Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas, pic courtesy of project Gutenberg)

[hhorror-vacuii]

thank you @ailichi !

last song: a bit of Wagner's Das Rheingold, for a class.

currently reading: I am making my way through the very last chapter of Caroline Levine's book, and I guess I'm listening to bit of Yellow House by Sarah M. Broom when I'm working on something manually? bit of a dry spell for me, actually.

currently watching: the last time I actually saw something when in August, but I am working up my mental capacity to watch The Terror

current obsession: it shouldn't count, I think, but I am genuinely obssessed with some things I'm writing. I am genuinely interested in seeing how can I solve them out.

I think everybody is as tired and as mentally uncooperative as me at any given moment - my vice - so I tag no one, but thank profusely once more <3

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Wonderstruck Pt. 1

Gallery II Tag List Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: Maybe Alix and Joe were star-crossed from the start... A/N: Flashback chapter, my beloved. 🤌🏽Also, if you're looking for something to listen to while reading, I highly recommend this & this. WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, like 2 drunk Antisemitic remarks, Trust issues Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @mccall-muffin @brassknucklespeirs @wwhatev3r @holdingforgeneralhugs @emmythespacecowgirl @auroralightsthesky

8 Months Earlier: January 8th, 1944. Aldbourne, England. 

Alix had been training with Easy Company in Aldbourne for less than a week, learning the ins and outs of her cover as their combat nurse, and already, she had made enemies.

Firstly, her case officer, Lieutenant Nixon, seemed to be doing everything possible to trip her up so she’d get pulled from the field.

According to the Office of Strategic Services, her handler was supposed to be her mentor, someone who would be in her corner when no one else was, but instead, working with her seemed to only renew his determination to make her so miserable that she’d quit the venture altogether and go home to Pennsylvania.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Alix ended up being hauled in front of Colonel Sink to be scolded like an unruly child. 

She knew they wouldn’t kick her out of the Sparrow Program for something as minor as giving a mouthy trooper a concussion so she hadn’t been overly worried. 

The OSS needed all the good agents they could get since the Germans kept killing them. The military couldn't afford to fire intelligence operatives, even if they wanted to. 

But being lectured on anger management for half an hour by an exasperated Colonel was still not exactly an enjoyable experience.

 It was just simply not her week so when Bull Randleman pulled her aside after target practice, she was immediately tense, expecting to be chewed out for something she probably had no idea was even out-of-bounds. 

"Hey Pyro," he called, lumbering over to her, chomping on his usual cigar. His tone was friendly but you could never be sure with a superior officer. "Mind if I borrow ya for a sec?" 

"Sure thing, Bull!" 

"Heard Sink really laid into ya for the Cobb thing," he began as they left the designated range area.

"But if ya ask me, Cobb was askin' to get tore up, talkin' to a lady how he was. It woulda riled anybody up." 

He shook his head disapprovingly.

"That boy ain't got the sense God gave a goose." 

"Is what it is, I suppose," Alix shrugged. "They're not kicking me out or anything, I just got read the riot act for about half an hour. They're not making me apologize, thank God, or I'd quit on the spot." 

"Figures," Bull replied with a chuckle. "Most of the boys are real proud of ya though. I reckon Guarnere's even fixin' to ask ya for an autograph!" 

The agent cocked her head, brow furrowed slightly. 

She hadn't had the time to meet hardly anyone yet.

"Who?" 

"Bill Guarnere," he repeated kindly. "NCO, about yea-high, dark hair, Philly accent, loud as all get out? Ya can't miss him. He was the one hootin' and hollerin' when you was scrappin' with Cobb." 

Alix thought about it for a second but no dice.

She had been seeing red during the fight and the only thing she could distinctly remember was Bull pulling her off of the crumpled trooper before she could do anymore damage. 

"Sorry Bull, I don't recall." 

"Ain't no problem," he drawled with a paternal smile. "I reckon you was a bit busy tryna keep from killin' ol' Roy at the time anyway." 

He snapped his fingers as a thought popped back into his head.

"But that does remind me, I was fixin' to ask if you got any plans for tonight 'cause me an' the rest of the troopers from Easy are gonna be goin' out to the White Rose Inn at around 7 or 8, if you're interested. I figure it'd give ya a chance to get acquainted with the rest of the fellas seein' as you ain't really been properly introduced to most of 'em yet."

"Sounds like fun!" Alix answered brightly. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," Bull responded with an easy shrug. "It's just been one hell of a week and I reckon we could all use a break. Be good for morale." 

"Sounds swell," Alix chirped as she swiped the sweat off her brow. "I could sure use a good party. Thanks for the invite!" 

"Sure thing," the older paratrooper commented. "I remember being new. It ain't easy. Gotta be even harder on you, bein' the runt and all."

Alix ducked just out of his reach to avoid him missing up her hair paternally, as he was wont to do.

"Watch it, Randleman," she said in a tone of mock annoyance as they arrived at the makeshift trenches dug on the opposite side of the field. "D'you know how long it takes to get it all pinned up like this?!" 

 The Southerner chuckled. 

"I reckon you'll live." 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

For an inn situated in a relatively small village, the White Rose had a rather large ballroom and when Alix made her way in that evening, it was already teeming with life.

 The worn wooden bar stools were quickly filling up with drinking customers and the dance floor was a blur of colorful motion. Shouts and giggles all wafting over the energetic swing music playing in the background completed the scene and Alix took a deep breath, feeling invigorated. 

This is why she loved dance halls, parties, whatever she could get. The energy, the ambience, it was all so different from the prim and proper dinner parties of home. Even in a normally sleepy village like Aldbourne, you could always count on the visiting paratroopers to liven things up a bit. 

Taking in the sights, her brown eyes roamed the scene for someone she knew when she thought she heard her name being called. Turning to her right, she saw Bull winding his way through the crowd with his date in tow. 

“Hey there, Pyro,” the older trooper exclaimed as Alix shuffled past some locals to get over to him. “I thought that was you! Glad ya could make it!” 

He introduced his date but the blaring of the trumpet section swallowed the name, so Alix simply exchanged polite “How do you do”s and prayed that Randleman might mention the girl’s name in conversation again at some point throughout the rest of the evening. 

“The guys are back this way,” Bull called over his shoulder as they continued to weave through the crowd. 

“Is it always this packed?” Alix asked Bull’s date with a delighted grin but the other girl shook her head.

“Not until you Yanks came along."

Alix had been about to respond when a bellow from a cluster of tables nestled toward the back cut her off and she looked up to see a man with sergeant stripes and a wide grin jogging up to them.

“There he is!”  he exclaimed, reaching over to slap Randleman on the back.

“Where’ve you been, Bull, we thought you got lost!”

“Heya Johnny,” Bull greeted him warmly before introducing him to Alix and his date as Sergeant Johnny Martin on the way to the rest of the group. “Sorry I ran off but-” 

He jerked a thumb behind him.

  “Had to go find Pyro.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Alix responded as she extended a hand. “I’m-” 

“Martinelli, the OSS agent,” Johnny finished for her, his grin widening. “Yeah, we know who you are.”

“You’re the dame that beat up Cobb, ain’t you?” a voice piped up as they arrived at their corner of the room, which was suddenly alight with a frenzy of discussion, of which Alix knew she was the main subject.

“They call her Pyro,” she heard somebody adding, “Ya know, like a firecracker?” 

“I heard she gave him a concussion,” someone remarked conspiratorially and she could feel the stares. "Nearly split his skull!"

“Her? But she looks like a fucking debutante?" 

"I thought so too but-"

Alix shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, feeling a bit like a sideshow attraction. She hadn’t wanted the whole Cobb thing to become a spectacle. Quite the opposite, actually: she was more than ready to forget it ever happened. 

Flying into a near-homicidal rage on her first day was not exactly her finest moment of decorum and she was still struggling to understand how people seemed to be proud of her for it.

“Yeah, that’s her,” Bull declared with a congratulatory slap on her back. “But she can be a deb and a brawler, ain't that right, Pyro?”

"Sure can," Alix replied, a nervous smile gracing her face as Bull and his date headed off to the dancefloor together, leaving her alone with the rest of the group.

Noting her presence, one of the paratroopers seated in front of her stood up and gestured to his chair with a practiced air of boyish charm.

"Here, take my seat, beautiful," he insisted with a cheeky smirk and Alix raised her eyebrows at the line. For a split second, no one moved, the whole table seemingly waiting with bated breath for her reaction. 

Marone, she wanted to mutter. I’m not a fucking time bomb, guys.

 But outwardly, she sent an appreciative smile in the direction of the trooper, who speedily pulled a chair up for himself to her right.

"Careful Tab," a shorter man a few seats down joked. "Get fresh with that one and–" he made a popping noise, dragging a thumb across his throat. "--she'll take your head right off!"

"I got it handled, thanks Luz," the polished trooper– Tab– remarked with a playful roll of his eyes.

As the table began to bubble with sporadic laughter and the hum of conversation once more, Alix only caught fragments among the voices. 

“—seen Skinny?”

“—so I says to the guy–”

“— Lieb’s late —”

“— and I get a fuckin’ letter —”

“ — my folks are pretty jazzed —”

“— Muck and Malarkey—”

“— didn't even know the broad —”

“— shooting craps, last I seen—”

"So where ya from, Pyro?" asked the man sitting opposite her, his slightly-grating voice easily carrying over the din.

Sergeant stripes, black hair…short…loud…thick Philly accent… 

This had to be the guy Bull had mentioned earlier, Guarnere.

"Philly," Alix replied absently as she tugged out a Chesterfield and began patting down her coat pockets. “Say, any of you boys got a light?"

      All conversation came to a screeching halt as half a dozen eager hands thrust out towards her, tripping over themselves to offer her their lighters. She chose the closest one, a black lighter volunteered by a trooper to her left with silver-blue eyes who introduced himself quietly as David Webster. 

 "Bullshit," Guarnere scoffed from his seat across the table before taking a big swill of his beer. "Ya don't sound it. I’d know if you was from Philly.”

Alix cocked a manicured eyebrow and took a long drag. 

"Clearly not," she remarked coolly, "because I am from Philly, born and raised." 

"Yeah?" Guarnere challenged. "What neighborhood then?" 

Alix sighed in defeat.

           She knew the reaction that would come, the one that always came.  

"Chestnut Hill." 

 Bill choked on his beer before letting out a low whistle of admiration. 

"Jesus Christ, no wonder ya don't sound it." 

Here we go, Alix thought. 

        "Fellas, we're in the presence of royalty," Bill announced jokingly with an exaggerated bow in the agent’s direction. "Ain't that right, Your Majesty?" 

        Alix took a long drag on her cigarette and ignored him, trying to focus on the smoke or the table or anything else. 

She knew he was just kidding but it was still embarrassing. Growing up in the affluent neighborhood of Chestnut Hill in Northwest Philly was not what people envisioned when she told them she was from Philadelphia. 

She’d heard from Penny that South Philly neighborhoods were close-knit and working-class, where everybody was in the same boat and you had to scrap together to survive. It was tough but it brought people together as a community. Your neighbors were like family.

 

Chestnut Hill wasn’t like that at all. Come to think of it, Alix didn’t even think she knew the names of the neighbors in the estate to their right and she’d certainly never had to struggle for survival. Her father’s business connections ensured a life of ease for her, so long as she did everything she was told… or at least, made it look that way. 

Alix snickered inwardly as she peeled off her coat and draped it on the back of her chair, imagining her parents reaction to her outfit that evening.

Her mother would've been appalled but the paratroopers around her– some of whom were gaping like fish– certainly didn’t seem to mind it. 

It had been another of her many pilfered gowns from a modeling gig. She couldn't remember which false name she'd given the photographer for the print– something nondescript – but she'd kept the dress tucked at the back of her closet ever since the gig, knowing full well that if her mother discovered it, it would be in the garbage by sundown and Alix would most likely be grounded for life.

She hadn't tried it on in a year or so but the scarlet silk still clung to her in all the right places and the skirt flared out beautifully like a fairytale gown. The only issue was the top, which was perhaps just a tad too small for her now as her ample chest was threatening to spill over with each breath she took. 

Nonetheless, she had to admit, she looked pretty good, even if she was a bit overdressed compared to the other girls in their Woolworth’s tea dresses. 

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Alix tried to distract herself with some idle conversation, engaging with Webster on the merits and drawbacks of the Shakespeare authorship question when she happened to glance over toward the door and the agent felt her breath hitch as time seemed to slow.

The handsome technician she’d caught staring at her on her first day…the wiry one with the laidback swagger and the warm brown eyes...the one she’d been dying to speak to but didn’t have the chance… 

He was there, just steps away, looking as ruggedly handsome as ever as he made his way over to their section of the room. But then Alix’s view was partially obstructed by Tab, who’d stood up to greet his approaching friends, casting the shorter agent in his long shadow.

"Sorry, we're late, fellas," the technician addressed the rest of the group dryly, without a clue that the slight rasp of his tenor voice was making the practically-invisible Alix's heart skip a beat. 

"Skinny here—" she heard a small grunt and Alix guessed the companion had been elbowed or otherwise nudged, "had to get bitched out by Peacock for bein’ a drunken idiot last Monday, and guess who had to wait up for him." 

"I said I was sorry," Skinny grumbled, seemingly more to himself than anybody else. "What more does he want from me, Joe?" 

"Probably all the light bulbs ya stole from his lamps when you were plastered, ya fuckin' menace."

From the reflection in her water glass, Alix could see Skinny sulking, pulling a face that strongly resembled an exasperated river otter, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Joe seemed just as amused and as Tab shifted, allowing Alix to just barely be glimpsed, Joe caught her eye and shot her a wink that made her cheeks get warm.

“Well if Sober Wayne knew where Drunk Wayne hid the lightbulbs, then Sober Wayne would give ‘em all right back," Skinny retorted testily.

Retreating, he dragged a chair over to the far side of the table which resulted in nearly everyone having to scoot over one and him practically sharing a seat with a now-equally-sulky Bill Guarnere.

"How’d you even get in Peacock's room in the first place?" the handsome technician – Joe – remarked with a wry shake of his head, as he carted a chair for himself over to the table's end, next to Skinny and diagonal to Tab and Alix. "And what the hell did ya want light bulbs for, anyway?"

"You're asking the wrong guy, Joe," his exasperated friend answered, sounding defeated. "I'm telling you, Drunk Me is a whole nother person. Take it up with him." 

“Well, drunk or sober, we’re just glad you two could make it!” Tab assured them breezily before shouting something over his shoulder about grabbing more beers and disappearing into the crowd.

Glancing over to where the technician– Joe– was seated, just diagonal to her from across the table, Alix found herself admiring how remarkably at-ease he was. 

She felt like a fish out of water, surrounded by people she barely knew while the occasional stranger ogled her like a piece of meat. 

But Joe…Joe was animated and engaging, trading smart remarks with Bill Guarnere across Skinny like casual blows during training.

 

It definitely helped that his intensity and charm reminded her of the male lead in one of those romance pictures they were always showing at the movie theaters.

He looked the part of the dashing soldier too in his uniform, with his thick brown hair now dark with styling product, finely-drawn features and the way those warm brown eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled…

He was smiling at her. 

Oh no.

Suddenly realizing she’d been caught, Alix could feel heat creeping up her cheeks again and she was positive that she was as bright red as her dress by now.

She returned the smile but found she just couldn’t tear her eyes from his, and he seemed to be facing the same silent struggle.

The idle chatter around them seemed far away now and for a second, it was just the two of them gazing into each other's eyes from across the table, each searching for the right thing to say to the other. 

He spoke first, leaning forward so she could hear him better over the noise.

“Doll, I’m gonna need you to quit that,” he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Alix cocked her head inquisitively.  

“Quit what?”

Joe scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh.

“Smilin’ at me like that. I can’t think straight when you do and I need to get my shit together before I make a damn fool outta myself.” 

Alix giggled and was it her imagination or did his face seem to brighten at the sound?

“Name’s Joe, by the way,” he added, sitting up a little straighter. “Joe L-”

“Liebgott!” Tab’s voice interrupted as he returned to the table, reaching over Alix’s head to hand Joe his beer.

“Only took me half the year but I finally got you one! The bar’s held up like you wouldn’t believe!”

“Yeah, I bet,” Joe replied carelessly, clearly waiting for Talbert to notice his disinterest and leave, but the spell had already been broken. 

Suddenly feeling a white-hot pain between her fingers, Alix hissed and tossed the remains of her cigarette away with a muttered curse. 

She’d been so out of it, she’d let her damn cigarette burn down to nothing and singe her fingers. 

“You okay, doll?” Joe asked, his brows knitted with concern and Alix felt bad that he'd cut a seemingly miffed Tab off mid-sentence just to check on her.

She opened her mouth to make an excuse but of course, it was then that the band struck up a particularly lively tune she recognized and her head perked up.

It was “In the Mood” by Glenn Miller, one of her favorites!

"Hey princess," Guarnere interjected from across the table, already getting to his feet. "D'you dance?" 

"If I'm asked," Alix hinted with a pointed look over at Joe.

So c'mon Joe, she urged in her mind. Ask.

The technician had just opened his mouth to say something when Bill interrupted with a winning grin.

“Well consider this a personal invitation then!”

And before Alix could blink, she found herself being whisked off to the dancefloor. 

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Even drunk off his ass, Bill Guarnere could still Lindy like nobody’s business. The quick footwork and energetic, almost jerky movements suited his personality perfectly and even a practiced dancer like Alix was struggling to match his sheer dynamism.

But the vivacious Alix was never one to turn down a dance, even if she wasn't particularly jazzed about the asker.

Joe, meanwhile, was leaning casually against the table and making small talk with a tall, dark-haired trooper whose name she didn’t know. 

But every couple minutes, the technician would look up from his beer over to where Alix and Bill were, his expression darkening like a brewing storm as though he were at war with himself.

About halfway through the next song and another beer later, it seemed like he'd made up his mind because when she next glanced up, there was Joe striding towards them with a sense of renewed purpose and a look of determination on his face.

Bill, meanwhile, had been rendered blissfully oblivious by the unheard-of amount of beers he’d knocked back.

When Alix had met him, he was finishing his fifth and she found it to be a miracle he was still standing, let alone dancing as well as he was. 

He had just extended his arm and half-spun, half-jerked Alix out across the floor when she reeled and accidentally collided full-force with someone who was just walking up to them from behind.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed as she stumbled into the stranger but he caught her easily in his arms, pulling her slightly to his chest for support so she wouldn't fall.

Seeing that it was Joe, Alix's heartbeat pound so loudly that she was positive he must feel it through his shirt.

"Don't be," he reassured her with a goofy grin. "Best thing that's happened all night." 

Alix was suddenly hyper-aware of how close their faces were, the warmth of his breath ghosting across her skin, their noses nearly touching, and the way his eyes drank in her features like he was trying to commit every inch of her to memory made her train of thought evaporate. 

Her lipsticked-reddened lips parted instinctively and she caught her breath at the way his gaze flickered down to them before coming back to her eyes and then darting down again. 

Alix could feel her every muscle quivering like a bowstring about to snap, and she knew she'd never wanted anything more than she wanted to kiss Joe Liebgott in that moment but somehow, she barely managed to keep herself in check. 

"Can I-" he started hoarsely, his lips nearly grazing hers as he fought to keep his self-control.

But Alix didn't want him controlled. 

"Please" she murmured breathily and that was all the urging he needed. Eyes fluttering shut, his lips had been just about to brush hers when–

"Y'know the whole point of a spin like that is that ya come back, right?" Bill interrupted sardonically as he approached, a surprisingly bitter edge to his voice. "Not go suckin' face with somebody else." 

Alix jumped out of Joe's embrace instantly, her face turning a bright crimson. 

She'd forgotten Bill was even there. 

But Joe paid him no mind, taking a step closer to Alix instead and allowing his focus to remain entirely on her.

"I ain't exactly Fred Astaire, y'know, but I'm still a pretty good dancer…" Joe said as he drew nearer, his warm brown eyes sparkling like smoky quartz under the lights.

"So whaddya say, dollface, mind if I cut in?" 

"Not at all!" Alix answered eagerly, taking his extended hand at the exact same moment Bill stated loudly, "Yeah, I do fuckin' mind, actually." 

"Good thing I wasn't talkin' to you then, Bill," Joe shot back, matching the NCO's tone of irritation. "The lady's made her choice and it ain't you so get outta here, will ya?" 

Guarnere had already been fuming when he saw Joe embracing the girl he’d been dancing with and the snickers from nearby dancers served only to inflame him further. 

Alix wasn't sure whether it was all the beers he'd had or the mortification that did it, but Bill lost it.

"Y'know he's a fuckin' Jew, right?" 

The vehemence in his voice made Alix's eyes narrow instantly and she could feel Joe tensing beside her. 

Rage simmered in the pit of her stomach like it had with Cobb and her nails bit into her palm as she struggled to keep it from boiling over.

She couldn't lose control again. Not in front of people who were already afraid of her. 

"You've got three seconds to walk away,” Alix warned, her voice dangerously low. 

She didn't trust herself to speak any louder without making a scene. 

“Before you end up on a casualty list without ever touching enemy ground.”

But Bill was nonplussed.

"I'm just sayin',” he shrugged, slurring his words a little bit. “You got a real nice-lookin' rosary around your neck there, so you're Catholic. I'm Catholic. You're a Philly Italian, I'm a Philly Italian. We got a lot in common, you and me. But you wanna waste your time dancing with a fuckin' Yid? For what?" 

"Call me that again," Joe growled, already taking off his jacket and throwing it to the ground. "And see what the fuck happens."

“Yeah?” Bill taunted with a barking laugh. “What’s your scrawny ass gonna do about it?” 

“I’m gonna snap your fuckin’ neck is what.” 

Bill snorted derisively at the comment and, feeling Joe start to move from beside her, Alix put her hand over the clenched fist at his side to keep him from swinging. 

The technician jerked his head sharply to look at her, eyes blazing, but the agent pressed her lips together in a tense line.

If anyone’s going to get in trouble for fighting, her eyes said clearly. I’d rather it be me.

Joe grimaced but the murderous look in his eyes softened and when he turned back to face Bill, she could tell he understood.

The tension in his hand slowly released and on a whim, she lightly tangled her fingers with his in a show of solidarity, sparks seeming to fly from the brush of their fingertips.

Thankfully, the song had just ended and the sporadic clapping from the dancers around them cut through the tension like a knife.

“Y’know what,” Bill muttered acerbically, recognizing his own defeat even through his drunken haze.

“You wanna get your heart broke? Be my fucking guest. But don’t come cryin’ to me ‘bout it later.”

With one final scowl in their direction, he stalked off, shoving his way past a few onlookers on his way back to the tables to drown his sorrows just as the band began to play a much gentler, slower melody. 

Distracted, Alix’s face instantly lit up with recognition.

“Oh, this is the song from that one picture!” she gasped, eyes wide. “ The one with Bing Crosby!”

Joe grinned at her excitement and gently pulled her closer to him, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“You’re gonna have to narrow that down for me a little, Ziskeit,” he chuckled affectionately, causing a rush of butterflies in the agent’s stomach at the sound of the word.

“‘Cause there’s at least fifty of ‘em.”

“It came out a few years back,” Alix trailed off with a bemused smile, taking his other hand in her own. “It was a musical comedy…?”

“Oh sure, yeah, that really narrows it down.” Joe teased, brown eyes glittering with amusement. 

Alix rolled her eyes playfully and responded,“If it comes to me, I’ll let you know.” 

“You’d better,” Joe quipped. “I’m on the edge of my seat here.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

“Do I want to be with you 

as the years come and go?

Only forever, if you care to know.”

Joe was a shockingly good dancer, fluid but firm. He had an almost supernatural way of anticipating her movements before she made them, keeping them always perfectly in-sync instead of dragging her through the steps like Bill had. 

Unlike Bill– who had been far too drunk to pay much actual attention— Joe’s soft brown eyes were always gazing intently into hers, as though he were searching for something deep within her, seeing straight into her heart with every glance. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he pondered aloud, head tilted slightly as he gazed down at her. “‘Cause I feel like I’ve seen that gorgeous smile somewhere before.” 

"Depends," Alix replied, lightly following his steps with her own. "D'you smoke Chesterfields? Or read pin-up mags?" 

Now it was Joe's turn to be embarrassed. 

"Uh…maybe both," he admitted sheepishly and Alix giggled.

"Then you've definitely seen me. I was in the Esquire calendar too. I model under different names, of course. My family would kill me if I used my real one."

"Wait…so I’m dancin’ with a real-life pin-up girl?" She nodded and a devilish smirk spread across Joe's face. 

“Makes sense. I knew I’d seen you someplace besides my dreams.”

“Jesus Christ, what a line,” Alix scoffed but she couldn’t help the way her stomach somersaulted at his tone. 

Not that he had to know that.

“Hey, I thought that one was pretty fuckin' good," the technician remarked. "But I can do better, dollface, just say the word." 

The warmth between them was growing more powerful by the second, her heartbeat racing along with it, but Alix averted her eyes and pursed her lips as Bill's parting words came back to her. 

"You wanna get your heart broke? Be my fuckin' guest."

Was this a mistake, she worried, a tempest brewing in her silence.

In her experience, good-looking, charming men like Joe, the ones with the roguish smiles and the silver tongues, they only wanted one thing and when they got it, they'd be gone, onto the next. 

So why was she even bothering?

Because…

Because a part of her knew she was playing with fire but she couldn't help herself. She knew it would hurt but she still craved the burn. 

“Would I grant all your wishes 

and be proud of the task?

Only forever, if someone should ask.”

“I ‘preciate what you did back there, by the way,'' Joe murmured, the slight gravel of his voice bringing her back to the present as they swayed to the soft, flowing current of the music.

“Stoppin' me, I mean. I probably coulda got kicked out for fighting an NCO.”

“You definitely would’ve,” Alix agreed. “If anybody’s gonna be fighting an NCO, it’ll be me because the military can’t touch me.” 

“Must be nice,” Joe replied wistfully. “How come the OSS gets to have all the fun?” 

“Just lucky I guess,” Alix quipped easily.

Joe eyed her curiously as they swayed in time.

“What do you guys actually do anyway?” he asked. “They don’t tell us anything except that it’s ‘intelligence work’, whatever that means.”

Alix smirked secretively.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, flyboy,” she teased. “But if I told you, then I’d have to kill you.”

Joe raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah?” He gave her a small twirl, letting the scarlet skirt of her dress fan out around her like a fairytale princess before deftly tugging her back close to him again, returning the smirk.

“I think I’ll take my chances.”

“How long would it take me

to be near if you beckoned?

Off-hand I’d figure, less than a second.”

“Y’know,” Joe marveled as he led their steps with ease. “After all that, I just realized I never even got your actual name.” 

“You never asked,” Alix chided playfully. “And I wasn’t going to throw it at you, in case it was unwanted.” 

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that, doll,” Joe’s expression was too easy to read and Alix found herself blushing at his forwardness.

“‘Cause there ain’t a fuckin’ thing you could do that’d be unwanted.” 

“Do you think I'll remember 

how you look when you smile?

Only forever, that's puttin' it mild.”

“It’s Alix,” she murmured as he guided her through the steps seamlessly, like they were walking on air. ”My name’s Alix, with an i.”

“Alix,” Joe repeated, lifting his arm to lightly spin her again. “With an i. I like that. Reminds me of –”

“Princess Alix,” she finished for him and he nodded. “Of Hesse, I know. That’s where my parents got the idea.”

She made a face and added, “They wanted a royal name for the future heiress.” 

Joe’s eyebrows shot up to the ceiling in disbelief

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait a minute. You’re a fuckin’ heiress and you’re still boutta go undercover in a fuckin’ war zone?” 

Alix shrugged. 

“Yeah, so what?” 

He shook his head in amazement. 

“So what? You could be anywhere in the world right now, livin’ the high life, but instead you chpose to be here of all fuckin' places. You’re really somethin’, y’know that, Ziskeit?”

There was that word again that made her heart skip a beat everytime it rolled off his tongue. Zee-skite. 

She repeated it again in her head before saying aloud, “What does that mean?” 

Joe’s eyes went round and he swallowed hard. 

“What does what mean?”

“Zee-skite?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, his posture suddenly stiffening slightly. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Do you think I'll remember 

how you look when you smile?

Only forever, that's puttin' it mild.”

As the last verse wound down, Alix felt the slow creep of melancholy filling her chest, a squeezing tightness she couldn't ignore even through the clatter of applause. 

You wanna get your heart broke? Bill’s words hung over her head like booming thunder from a storm cloud. Be my fucking guest.

Joe’s not like that, she tried to reassure herself silently. Bill’s just drunk and pissed off. 

But when she looked up at Joe, she felt the tightness in her chest squeeze even tighter, like her lungs were being filled with water. 

Like she was drowning.

With his warm gold-flecked brown eyes, quick wit, ferocity and rough-edged charm, it was easy to see why the women around them all snuck glances over at him, even over the shoulder of their unsuspecting dates.

What made her think she was special? 

He doesn’t want you, something in her whispered. How could anybody want you? You’re just the girl of the hour.

Someone as handsome and charming as him probably already had a sweetheart back home, maybe several, all sending him flowery love letters and photographs for him to keep with him and sending wishes for his safe return.

A bitter taste now in her mouth, Alix knew all about unfaithful servicemen and their escapades and she wanted no part of that. 

Her stomach twisted with guilt. 

Had she unknowingly been flirting with someone else’s beau?

Did his heart belong to someone else? Was there someone– maybe even multiple someones– waiting for him at home?

Did he gaze wistfully at someone else’s photograph at night before he went to sleep, wishing to be back home in her embrace again?

Instinctively sensing her sudden discomfort, Joe glanced down at her, his forehead puckering with concern. 

“You okay, Zees?” he asked, worry softening his tone. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

He was unbearably gentle with her, holding her as though she might shatter into a million pieces at any second, and she wasn’t sure how to process it. 

He was funny, he was sweet, he was open-minded, fiery like her and far, far kinder than she deserved…He didn’t seem anything like a cad. 

But then again, they never did at first, did they?

“Uh yeah,” Alix stammered hesitantly. “I-I’m fine. I just…” 

She backed hurriedly out of his embrace, mumbling excuses.

“I…I think I need to go…Have a smoke maybe, I don’t know…”

Before he had time to react, Alix had already bunched the scarlet material of her skirt in her fingers and made a hasty retreat out of the ballroom, leaving Joe standing alone on the dancefloor, crestfallen as he stared after her in a state of complete and utter bewilderment.

[forevercomposedofnows]

Summary:

After Philippe is caught, Louis is stopped from sending him away by the whims of their sister Charlotte, who just wants her brothers to get along.

[black-cat-aoife]

Because I like making bad decisions and the Musketeers movie with Heino Ferch was on linear television tonight I rewatched it...and it's amazing how I forgot completely the storyline that is "Milady de Winter made a pact with the devil and sacrificed her firstborn to get demonic powers". All I remembered was...the magical falcon. And...at one point they all dress up like Edward Said's drag nightmare

[signofthestriking]

I shit thee not this is what I write about and somehow its a dbz fic

[enigma-the-mysterious]

2022 Whumptober Day 3: "Say Goodbye"

Fandom: The Musketeers (2014)

"I missed your company," Marsac said, finally looking up at Aramis and patting the space beside him, the invitation clear in the gesture.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have abandoned me to the cold to finish me off and the ravens to pick on my corpse," Aramis shot back testily.

Read on AO3 here